


Smug and Sassy, continued

by TicTok



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:18:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TicTok/pseuds/TicTok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After games 2, 3, and 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smug and Sassy, continued

Sid is waiting patiently when Tuukka finally emerges from the building. Tuukka stands by the door for a minute, looking around. He makes one final sweep with his eyes then slinks towards Sid’s truck. Sid glares at him as he climbs up into the passenger seat.

“Hi.” Tuukka says quietly, smiling a little. Sid scowls and starts the engine. The car ride is mostly silent. Sid slaps Tuukka’s hand when the Finn tries to change the radio station, but otherwise makes no true contact. Tuukka tries to fight the whine in his voice when he says, “Sidney.” 

Sid ignores him and Tuukka exhales in a huff and looks out the window. As they turn onto Sid’s road, Tuukka tests the waters, “How do you feel. Physically. “ Sid grumbles a bit and shrugs. Tuukka arches an eyebrow but lets the topic go for now.

Sid stalks into the house and Tuukka trails behind him. Sid is wobbling a bit, Tuukka notices. Sid goes straight upstairs. Tuukka grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen, sipping it as he follows Sid. 

Sid is sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off. Tuukka Toes off his own and sets the water on the nightstand, stripping down his boxers and crawling up unto his side of the bed. Sid groans softly and rubs his ankles. Tuukka looks over and fights the urge to chuckle as Sid shoots him dirty looks and massages his feet.

“It isn’t funny!” Sid growls as he rubs a swollen and bruised ankle. Tuukka does laugh now, lying back on the bed. He gasps when Sid prods one of the bruises from blocked shots that pepper his chest. He gives Sid a violated glare and rolls over, his back to Sid as he pulls the covers up to his waist.

The bed shifts and Tuukka relaxes slightly when he feels Sid’s lips press against his shoulder. “You suck. I hate you.” Sid breaths out quietly. Tuukka snorts and rolls over onto his back again. Sid is leaned over, supporting himself on one hand. “Your team is not playing their best. You can all do better.” There’s no venom in Tuukka’s words, but Sid still bristles and moves off the bed.

Sid changes quickly, yanking his shirt off over his head and dropping his dress slacks to the floor. He pulls on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and hobbles back to the bed, glaring benignly. Tuukka makes a face at him and pulls him close when he settles on the very edge of the bed.

Sid huffs dramatically but shuffles closer until they are both lying on their sides, facing each other. Every time Sid exhales Tuukka can feel his breath ghosting over his face. Tuukka shifts just a little, and their foreheads brush gently. Sid’s eyes are closed, but they flutter when Tuukka’s nose brushes Sid’s as Tuukka leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Sid’s lips. He pulls back as Sid opened his eyes. Sid’s lips felt hot under his own, and looking closely he can see the traces of bruises and the extra red coloration.

Sid runs his tongue along the inside of his lips and moves his hand from Tuukka’s hip up to rest on the Sid of Tuukka’s face. He pushes Tuukka’s head away slightly and giggles. Tuukka’s smile drops suddenly, “Hey, you hit me!”

Sid furrows his brow, “What? No I didn’t! I just pushed on your face, that’s all! I wouldn’t hit you!” Tuukka shakes his head and moves his hand to rest on Sid’s ribs. “No, not just now. Earlier. During the game. You guys almost scored. You hit me across the back with your stick.” Sid looks confused, trying to remember. “I don’t remember that. Sorry?” He looks genuinely concerned and Tuukka laughs. “Its okay, like you could actually hurt me.” Sid tenses and curls his lip unhappily. 

After a few minutes Tuukka is starting to drift off, but swallows and shifts as Sid sleepily whispers, “What time do you have to leave in the morning?” Tuukka blinks slowly, clearing his throat and saying, “Bus leaves at 9. No one will look for me before 8. I should leave here at 7 or so.” Sid nods, murmuring, “Alarm will go off at 6:30” Tuukka hums his approval and ducks his head to rest his forehead to Sid’s.

~~~TicTok~~~~

Sid is beyond pissed when he slouches into the passenger seat of Tuukka’s black Audi. Tuukka looks over, and tries to suppress the endless smile that has tugged at his lips ever since the game ended. Sid cuts him off before he can say anything though, “Don’t.” Sid says, his voice clipped and angry. Tuukka presses his lips into a line and starts the drive home.

When they arrive at Tuukka’s house, Sid follows Tuukka sulkily. Tuukka is exhausted and dehydrated, and fully intends to go straight to bed. He frowns when Sid detours and goes down the stairs into the basement. Tuukka yawns as he follows Sid down the stairs into the basement workout room. “What are you do-“ Sid cuts Tuukka off with a hard stare. 

Tuukka sinks down onto a pile of foam mats and lounges back as Sid wraps his hands and then puts on boxing gloves. Tuukka sips his Gatorade and fights sleep, his eyes are heavy and the steady _thud, thud_ of Sid’s gloved hands hitting the weighted bag.

Tuukka blinks and sits up straighter, determined not to fall asleep just yet. Sid has been hitting the bag for almost 15 minutes now. His hair is no longer neatly combed and it is clinging to the sides of his face, his forehead, and the back of his neck is sweaty curls. 

“Done?” Tuukka asks quietly. Sid is breathing heavily and glaring at him. Tuukka raises his eyebrows and hisses, “Sweep, sweep.” Sid howls angrily and resumes pummeling the bag with a renewed vengeance. 

Tuukka tries to resist drifting off by watching Sid abuse the punching bag and sipping Gatorade. It is almost a full 20 minutes later before Sid slumps against the bag, worn out. Tuukka heaves himself off the mats on the floor and walks over to Sid, wrapping his long arms around him. Sid turns and presses his sweaty face into Tuukka’s neck wrapping his arms around Tuukka and sagging against him.

Tuukka holds him like that for a moment, his arms being pretty much the only thing holding Sid up. Finally Sid locks his knees underneath himself again and turns his head so his cheek is on Tuukka’s shoulder and his face turned away. Tuukka quietly asks, “Feel better?” Sid shakes his head minutely.

Tuukka sighs and walks them over to the bench, pushing Sid down onto it. Tuukka sits with a leg on either side of the bench and turns Sid so he can reach his hands. Tuukka gently removes the gloves and drops them on the floor. Sid doesn’t even flinch when Tuukka pulls the strips of tape off of his sore skin.

Tuukka stands up and drops his now nearly empty bottle of Gatorade and the tape into the trash. He stops in the doorway and looks back at Sid. “You coming?” He asks softly. Sid is leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his head hung. He shakes his head gently and lets it hang lower.

Tuukka sets his jaw and goes upstairs, leaving Sid alone.

He isn’t sure what time it is when Sid finally climbs into the bed with him. Sid is cold and wet, shivering as he presses against Tuukka’s side. He has to fight the urge to cringe away from Sid’s chilled body. Sid‘s hair is soaked and goosebumps spring up across Tuukka’s chest where Sid’s head is laying.

Sid smells shower fresh, but Tuukka and almost smell the desperation rolling off him in waves. Sid wants to win this. And Tuukka almost feels bad having to be the one to deny him. Almost.

~~~TicTok~~~~

Sid has ignored nearly everything Tuukka has yelled at him during the game. Tuukka’s snide but encouraging voice calling, “Come on, Crosby! You can do better than that!” rings in his ears, drowning out the obnoxiously loud crowd and the music. 

She shakes hands in the line with everyone else, nodding and saying, “Good game” and “Good job” to each of the Bruins as he passes. When he gets to Tuukka, he looks up at the hazel eyes and says, “No. Just go.” He says it firmly, and Tuukka smirks and says, “Good job, Crosby.”

Sid retreats to the locker room with the rest of his team. There has been a sinking feeling in his stomach since the end of the second period, and it intensifies as soon as he steps off the ice. He can’t throw up. He can’t let people see him break. He shoves the feeling down and addresses the media briefly. 

Soon the staff pushes the media out. Sid sits back in the stall and looks around at the silent room. No one is moving. Pascal has his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his hair. Tanger is sitting silently next to him, one hand on Pascal’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

Sid knows this will be the last time he sits in a locker room with this exact group of guys. He sighs deeply. Geno is sitting across from him, staring into space forlornly. Nealer is next to Geno. He keeps taking his gloves and helmet off and then putting them back on. Like he hasn’t accepted the loss and wants to go back out and try again. Beau looks especially crestfallen, and Sid makes a mental not to call him in the morning.

Sid starts undressing and goes to the showers. The others follow his lead and join him soon. No one says a word until they are standing in a circle in the room. 

“Next year.” Sid says firmly, eyes scanning their blank faces. Pascal’s eyes are red and a little watery. Sid feels his heart constrict as Pascal leaves the room, the others following him sullenly. 

Sid is the last of the team left in the room. Bylsma and the staff giving him with sad curious looks as he sits back down. “I’ll find my own way home guys.” They all turn to Bylsma, who shrugs and says, “Be careful.” before turning and leaving with the guys.

Sid is still sitting there when his phone rings over half an hour later. Sid knows who it will be, and debates not answering. That wouldn’t be fair though. 

“Hi.” He says quietly.

“What is the plan? Want me to come right home?” there is muffled background noise like Tuukka might have ducked into the bathroom to call.

Sid tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He feels nauseous again. “I love you. Like, a lot, okay? But I honestly don’t think I can look at you right now.”

Tuukka bites back a laugh and says okay. Sid tells him that he is going back to Tuukka’s house and that he will be there when he gets home, but don’t rush.

Sid takes a cab back to Tuukka’s and tips big time, hoping the cab driver either won’t know who he is, or won’t care. He lets himself into the house and goes straight upstairs.

Sid blinks blearily as a warm weight settles sprawled over half his back. Tuukka reeks of alcohol and cigar smoke. The alarm clock on the nightstand glares 4am. Tuukka giggles and quietly slurs, “We won, Sid, we did it!”

Sid presses his face into the pillow and fights the tears that prickle behind his eyes.


End file.
